There are probably more patterns in our lives than we
realize, than we pay attention to. In a
moment of quiet, I thought that lately my life might be centered around being
dependent on others. Or not.
The realization smacked me in the head - like a V8
commercial – for not realizing, or accepting, sooner that I am officially a member of the sandwich
generation. I’m at that age in between
caring for an older generation while raising a younger one. This weekend, I was recovering from my
daughter’s Sweet 16 and having a conversation with my mother about finding a
new home in a senior community. Both
ends of my family were moving around me and I was trying not to get dizzy.
While all this is going on, I’m slowly starting to accept my
aging self, as manifested by my eyes. I’ve worn glasses since I was a child and I’d
much rather wear glasses than contacts (I can’t imagine sticking anything in my
eye every day.) But it’s something about
needing reading glasses, for more and more reading, that’s a little
unsettling. For driving and seeing the
preacher way up at the front of the church, that’s one thing. But to pick up a
book and be able to read the words, that feels old. Even my computer knows, as ads for reading
glasses pop up on my Facebook page and Twitter ad (do they track how many times
you hit “zoom” – how does it know?) It could be this bit of denial that’s kept
me from getting new glasses, with the excuse that I can’t find anything I like.
Meanwhile, my still-have-things-to-do-self is busy trying to
decorate my office. I feel like I’m always saying that. My office used to be the kids’ playroom, so
it’s bright yellow with IKEA bookcases and a chalkboard wall. When it was obvious that they were no longer
using it to play Barbie’s and LEGOS, I moved in. Since then, it’s been
functional, but not really cute. I’ve
got a million “pins” of ideas on my “Room of my Own” Pinterest board, but
nothing’s happened yet. Then it hit me tonight, as I was pinning a beautiful
pink desk – this decorating my own space thing is taking so long because I’ve
never really had my own space and funds to do something special. Milk crates in a college dorm doesn’t count.
In grad school, I lived alone, but who has decorating money for a rented
apartment when you’re still going to school?
Soon after, I moved in with my new husband and, well, he’s not so fond
of big, bright pink pieces of furniture.
It’s a new little bit of independence and I’m stalling.
Maybe I can get a deal on a pink desk and matching glasses.
Near a senior community.
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